An Unforeseen Gift
by Cara Sage
Summary: When the school closes down over the Christmas break, Harry finds himself in the unfortunate situation of spending the holiday in Snape's house. Pre-guardian fic.
1. Chapter 1

This will be a short series with a total of nine chapters set over Harry's Christmas break. I was inspired to write this because of the holiday spirit. I hope you enjoy it!

April 9, 2016: I've fixed some minor things that have caused a few readers some confusion, like some details that weren't in line with canon. I made some improvements in the writing as well. I hope this version is better.

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****Chapter One****

"Headmaster," Snape greeted upon the entrance of the old wizard. Dressed in his favorite violet robes adorned with silver star patterns, Dumbledore stood calmly at the entrance, smiling serenely at the younger man.

"Lovely place," said the headmaster, his eyes glinting. He paced the room momentarily before sitting down on the lone couch, waiting for his colleague to do the same.

"It wasn't funny the first time, Albus," said Snape, his tone sharp. He knew that these visits were not mere social calls, and he did not have the patience for small talk. The headmaster's odd taste in humor added to his irritation.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Of course, of course. I'll go straight to the point, as you wish."

Snape raised an eyebrow, waiting for the other man to speak. Just then, two steaming cups of tea materialized on the table.

"I have always enjoyed the soothing effects of chamomile," said Dumbledore as he took a sip from his cup, which was, incidentally, violet.

"Straight to the point, Headmaster," reminded the younger man as he glanced at the cup in distaste. Through his years of working with the old wizard, he had developed an aversion to anything violet.

"Ah, yes. Forgive an old man for getting distracted," said Dumbledore.

Snape sighed. This was going to be a long night. He decided to drink the tea despite the atrocity that contained it, scowling when he found that it was laced with a mild Calming Draught. He chose not to comment on it lest their conversation go off topic again.

"Christmas break is approaching—"

"__Albus!__"

"Severus, I assure you I am getting to the point. As I was saying, Christmas break is approaching, and we have a... minor problem, I'm afraid."

"What problem?" asked Snape, disliking where this conversation was heading. He had a feeling this problem concerned him. Why else would Dumbledore be in his quarters, leisurely sipping tea?

"You see, this year, none of the staff members can stay in the castle to watch over the children," said the older man, looking at his colleague meaningfully. The Potions Master didn't budge. "That leaves one other option, which is to close down the school over the holiday."

"Forgive me, Headmaster, but I do not see what the problem is," said Snape, looking at the other man with a hint of curiosity.

"There is a student who cannot go home for personal reasons. As all the staff members are busy, no one can take the boy."

The professor had a sneaking suspicion he knew who the said boy was. "Who is this boy?"

"Harry Potter."

Of course. Potter was always the problem. Snape narrowed his eyes at the headmaster and said, "And why are you telling me this?"

"You have to take him, Severus," said Dumbledore, the usual twinkle in his eyes gone. "We both know you don't have any obligations this Christmas, and there is no one else I would trust for this task."

"What of his relatives? Isn't the boy the safest with the Blood Wards?"

"Unfortunately, they are... unavailable."

"Can't I just watch the boy here then?" asked Snape, resigned to his fate. If he was going to be forced to take care of the Potter boy, he would, at the very least, do it in Hogwarts, where there were plenty of places he could send the brat to.

"Unfortunately, there is a Ministry rule that requires the presence of at least two staff members in order to keep the school open," said the old wizard.

"Are you telling me that even __Filch __is unavailable?" asked Snape in disbelief. He refused to accept the fact that he was the only one who didn't have obligations this Christmas.

"I promised him a holiday break early this year in exchange for releasing two fourth year Ravenclaw students from detention. Please, Severus, you are the only one available for this."

"And what do I get in exchange for this... __request__?" asked Snape. If Filch could get something then why couldn't he?

"I cannot imagine what might interest you, Severus, but I do seem to recall having the first edition of __Most Potente Potions__, complete with the author's handwritten notes, sitting somewhere in my office," said the headmaster, the twinkle back in his eyes. There was no way the Potions Master would refuse this.

"Sometimes, I wonder if you should have been a Slytherin."

Dumbledore chuckled. "So do I. I will send Harry down here a week from now."

With that, the headmaster left, leaving Snape to brood. Potter. Oh, how he disliked that boy. Perhaps if he were lucky, he could just lock the thirteen-year-old in his room until the end of the Christmas break.

He found himself momentarily amused by the thought and sighed, wondering if his lack of emotion was due to the mild Calming Draught in his tea. If he was going to live with Potter, he was definitely going to need more of those. Retiring to the potions laboratory, he wondered if the rare book was worth this.


	2. Chapter 2

****Chapter Two****

The morning before Christmas, the Great Hall was looking lonely. A lone boy sat in the middle of a long table, waiting for food to appear. Being the only student left in the castle, Harry had the privilege of requesting for whatever food he liked. So, he ate his cereal broodingly, his thoughts filled with dread about what was coming.

A week ago, just before the holiday began, Dumbledore had announced that the school would be closing down this Christmas break, requiring everyone to go home for the holidays. Upon hearing this, the Dursleys threw a fit, claiming that they only agreed to house the boy once a year, and that was during the summer. If they were to be forced to take him this Christmas break, then he would just have to find somewhere else to live for the rest of the summer.

Left with no choice, the headmaster had to request the only staff member who wasn't actually busy to take Harry. Of course, with the boy's luck, that staff member had to be Snape.

Harry sighed as he ate his cereal, now soggy from being left in the bowl of milk for too long. He finished the last spoonful and got up, deciding to run back up to the Tower while he still had time. As he reached the entrance to the Great Hall, he nearly collided with something.

Looking up, he found himself staring at his most hated professor, who sneered down at him in turn.

"Bring your things into my office in fifteen minutes, Potter," said the man, as though he were assigning detention. Harry knew that tone all too well.

"Yes, Sir," he said, silently wondering how long he would be able to keep his temper in check. Probably not that long, he decided. Still, the least he could do was try since he would be at the mercy of the Potions Master for the rest of the holiday.

He quickly disappeared from the man's sight and returned to the common room, where his things were already packed. He didn't have much, only a small trunk and an owl cage.

Not wanting to prolong his agony, he dragged his things and proceeded to the dungeons, his heart feeling heavier as he got closer to the dreaded man's office.

Upon reaching the dungeons, he dropped his things on the floor, steeling himself. He took a deep breath before knocking, feeling more uneasy as the seconds ticked by, but no response came.

Sitting down on his trunk, he decided to wait. He had to admit that he was rather early; the man could still be eating breakfast in the Great Hall for all he knew. As soon as he got comfortable, a cold voice echoed from behind him, making him jump.

"Potter."

Harry glared at the Potions Master, who had an arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

"You're early," observed Snape, his tone unchanging. He seemed displeased at the Gryffindor's early appearance.

The boy scowled, thinking about the unfairness of it all. Whether he was early, late, or just in time, the man would surely find something to say. What had he ever done to earn the git's ire except having been sorted into Gryffindor and being the Boy Who Lived?

Snape unlocked his office and entered, impatiently gesturing for the boy to follow. When Harry did, the door slammed shut behind him, making him jump for the second time that day.

"A bit jumpy, aren't we?" said the man, his tone laced with malice.

The younger wizard clamped his mouth shut; he wasn't going to rise to the bait. At least, not this early. When no response came, Snape merely raised an eyebrow before reaching for something in his pocket.

Without warning, he pointed his wand at Harry's trunk and cage, causing them to shrink. He pocketed the objects before holding out his hand, revealing a cork.

"What are you waiting for? Take it," he said when he saw the boy staring blankly at him.

"What's that?" asked the teenager suspiciously.

"Why it's a cork, Potter."

"You know what I mean!" said the boy, anger bubbling up inside him. He had tried to be tolerant, but the git was pushing all his buttons.

"It's a Portkey, now quit dawdling! I do not have all day," said the older wizard, shaking his outstretched hand.

"Cockroach Cluster," said the man as soon as the boy's hand touched the object. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"What's a Port—" Harry's statement was cut off when he felt a kick in his stomach, and suddenly they were no longer in the familiar office.

He fell hard on the floor as they arrived at a mysterious house. Sneering at the boy, Snape unshrank the trunk and the owl cage and made them disappear with a wave of his wand.

"Follow me," he said, not attempting to hide his displeasure.

He led the boy up a flight of stairs and into a long corridor, stopping at the last door. Opening it, he said, "This will be your room. As I do not have any House Elves, I expect you to keep it clean, even though you think it too difficult a task."

Harry nodded, too tired to argue. It was only nine in the morning, but he already felt emotionally exhausted. With that, Snape turned and left, slamming the door in the process.

As the Potions Master left, Harry observed his room for the first time, surprised to find that he rather liked it. In all honesty, he had half expected be asked to sleep on the couch, but he imagined Dumbledore wouldn't take kindly to it.

He found his trunk and owl cage in the middle of the room and pushed them to the wall opposite his bed, not bothering to unpack. Hedwig would find his way there soon, he thought as he stared at the empty cage. He sighed and let his legs dangle as he lay on his bed.

He loved how cozy the room felt despite it obviously being a guestroom. The furniture itself was remarkable; they were antique and elegant. It was a stark contrast to his room at his relatives' house, which was more of a room with a bed rather than an actual bedroom. This one was completely furnished. It had a bookshelf, a large closet, and even a study table. He felt comfortable despite the fact that he was in Snape's house.

After exploring every corner of the room, Harry found himself bored. He went through his trunk and pulled out his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, which he had received from Hermione last Christmas. Flipping to a random page, he saw a section about different Quidditch stunts and tricks and found himself engrossed. Hours later, he heard a knock on his door, and he looked up as he shut his book, wondering what the man could possibly want.

Snape didn't wait to be invited in. He opened the door and said, "Lunch. Be down in five minutes."

Harry stared at the man's retreating figure, surprised that it was already noon. He followed the professor into the kitchen and saw the table filled with various food. He briefly wondered if the food was from Hogwarts.

He waited awkwardly by the door, unsure whether or not he was actually welcome in the kitchen. When Snape scowled at the sight of him, he quickly shuffled in.

He sat across his professor despite the urge to sit somewhere far away. He watched the older wizard serve himself before he began filling his own plate with food. As he ate, he stared resolutely down at his plate, refusing to deal with his professor, who seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face.

Snape ate quietly, not minding his younger companion in the least. His plan was to treat the boy as though he were nonexistent, and it was working spectacularly.

__This is awkward__, thought Harry as he ate, still not looking up in case he accidentally made eye contact with the man. Deciding that getting ignored was better than having the man's anger directed at him, he continued to act as though he were invisible. Snape didn't seem to mind, so no words were exchanged between the two during the entire meal.

As soon as Snape finished eating, his plate disappeared. He kept his eyes fixed on the Gryffindor in front of him.

Feeling a strange prickling at the back of his neck, Harry instinctively looked up and found himself looking straight into the man's eyes. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what the other man was thinking.

As though reading his mind, Snape said, "It is customary to wait for others to finish eating before leaving the table." It seemed like he was about to add something, an insult, most likely, but he stopped himself.

Harry quickly finished the last spoonful and said, "I'm done, Sir."

The man abruptly stood and left, leaving the teenager alone in the kitchen. He found the professor's actions odd, but he shook his head and ignored it, deciding to return to his room. A moment later, he heard another knock at his door. __What now?__

"Your fan mail, Potter," sneered Snape as he shoved some letters into the boy's hands.

"I don't have fans!" he said, but the other wizard was already leaving. He glared at the door but felt significantly happier at the thought of his friends. He smiled as he read about Ron's long rant about Percy and Hermione's vacation in France.

Later that afternoon, he went down with the intention of asking about Hedwig. He crept down the stairs, feeling apprehensive for some reason. He heard two distinct voices engaged in a heated argument. The first one belonged to Snape; the second one was speaking in a low volume, and he had to strain his ears to recognize Dumbledore's voice.

He thought about turning back, not wanting to be accused of eavesdropping. Unfortunately, the headmaster decided to address him at that exact moment.

"Harry, my boy," said the old wizard, smiling in a grandfatherly fashion.

"Hello, Professor," said the boy meekly.

"Eavesdropping, Potter?" sneered Snape.

"I was just going to turn back!" he said defensively.

"After listening to our conversation? That __is __eavesdropping."

"Now, Severus. I'm sure Harry wouldn't do that," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling madly.

Harry wondered what the two had been arguing about when his gaze fell on a mysterious pine tree, which he could have sworn wasn't there that morning, in the middle of the living room.

"What—"

"Ah yes," said Dumbledore, following the boy's gaze. "I was just telling Professor Snape here that Christmas wouldn't be complete without a tree."

Harry gawked at the old wizard, deciding that the headmaster was indeed going barmy. No wonder they were arguing. He was pretty sure that Snape would agree with him when he said that Dumbledore was crazy, and that was saying a lot.

"And as I was just telling the headmaster," the professor began as he glared at the old man, who seemed oblivious to the look he was receiving. "I have no desire to partake in a decorating activity."

Harry looked confused, and he turned to Dumbledore for an explanation.

The old wizard clapped his hands together and said, "I suggested that you two decorate the Christmas tree together!" He looked expectantly at the boy, whose jaw dropped.

"Er... I think I'll pass," said the Gryffindor, thinking that sparing the headmaster's feelings was the least of his worries.

"Aren't you busy, Albus?"

"Yes, of course," said Dumbledore. "I was just checking on you two."

"And you've seen us. You should be on your way."

"Yes, yes. Merry Christmas, Harry," said the headmaster as he let the man usher him to the fireplace. As soon as the old man disappeared, Snape turned and fixed his glare on the boy.

"Do not let me catch you eavesdropping again. Is that clear?" he asked menacingly.

"Yes, Sir," said Harry, trying hard not to say anything else.

"You may eat dinner in your room tonight, and only tonight," said the man. He needed some time to himself.

"Sir!" the boy suddenly called. Snape turned and looked at the teenager, an eyebrow raised.

"Hedwig—my owl..."

"She will join you tomorrow," said the professor dismissively as he turned away, disappearing into his room. Harry sighed and went into his own room. There was a tray of food on his study table. If Snape wasn't in the mood to eat, that wasn't his problem. He finished off everything on his plate, feeling satisfied.

Once the tray disappeared, he plopped himself on his bed and reflected on the day's events. It was actually better than what he was expecting. If the man continued to ignore him for the most part, he might actually survive without getting in trouble. Besides, it wasn't all bad. If there was one good thing about being in Snape's house instead of at Privet Drive, it was that he got to eat thrice a day, and that was more than he could ask for.


	3. Chapter 3

****Chapter Three****

Christmas arrived, and Harry woke up feeling refreshed. He grinned widely when he saw Hedwig perched on the windowsill, sleeping.

"It's Christmas, Hedwig!" he said as he picked up the owl, waking her. Hedwig flapped her wings in annoyance before perching on top of her cage.

Deciding to let the animal rest, he took a quick shower and wore his finest robe, personally bought from Madam Malkin's. Though he preferred Muggle clothing, he doubted Snape would appreciate him wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs. Snapping out of his thoughts, he heard the man's voice through the door, telling him that breakfast was in fifteen minutes.

Downstairs, the Potions Master made himself comfortable on the living room couch. Drinking his morning coffee, he stared absently at the Christmas tree and thought about the gifts underneath it.

Currently, there were a total of ten gift boxes under the tree, and this made Snape's head reel with thoughts. Every year, there were six people who insisted on giving him gifts—every year, without fail. That would leave the remaining four boxes for Harry.

If he had to guess, he would say that two of those were from his insufferable friends. The other one was from Dumbledore; that was for sure. Of course the man would get his favorite student a gift. The other one... was it from his family? He had expected at least two from them, perhaps one from his aunt and uncle and another from his cousin, but it was rather large, after all.

Snape was curious, but he wouldn't dare admit that to anyone. If he were to be honest, he didn't want to admit it to himself either, which was why he refused to let himself check the names on the gift boxes to satisfy his curiosity. It didn't last long, however.

Five minutes later, he found himself walking toward the Christmas tree and discreetly checking out the gifts. They were carefully separated into two piles, the ones on the left being his. As usual, he received one from the headmaster, one from each of the Heads of House, one from Hagrid, and another from Trelawney.

He walked slowly toward the other side and sneaked a glance at the gifts, immediately noticing the names of Harry's two best friends. Of course. And as he expected, the other gift was indeed from Dumbledore. He had to pause and sneer down at the gift momentarily, thinking about the headmaster's favoritism. The last gift suddenly caught his eye, and he raised an eyebrow upon seeing Hagrid's name.

It wasn't from his relatives after all. Wasn't it a normal tradition to exchange gifts during this holiday? Perhaps not everyone celebrated it. He wouldn't know; he was no expert on Christmas traditions. Also, why was the half giant's gift so large? There had better not be some strange creature in there, he thought, scowling.

Upon hearing the sudden footsteps, Snape abruptly turned away from the tree, feigning disinterest. He almost never found himself caught by surprise, and he mentally cursed himself for letting his guard down.

"What took you so long?" he snapped, his mood suddenly darkening.

"You said fifteen minutes!" returned the younger wizard, finding Snape's outburst illogical. He still had a few minutes to spare, and he didn't know why the man was being so grumpy.

"Watch the tone, Potter," said the professor as he went into the kitchen and sat on his customary seat. He saw Harry, who was secretly wishing for the table to grow wider so that they wouldn't be forced to sit so close to each other, take the seat opposite him without a word.

Several plates of eggs, bacon, sausages, pancakes, and toast appeared from thin air. This was followed by glasses of pumpkin juice, orange juice, milk, tea, and coffee. Harry eyed the food with fascination, while Snape continued to scowl. He was thinking of cruel ways to make Hogwarts' House Elves understand the concept of numbers.

Snape served himself a slice of toast and some eggs and saw the Gryffindor do the same. Watching the boy, he silently wondered if the teenager was naturally a light eater since most students his age ate a lot. Deciding that he didn't really care, he reached for his second cup of coffee that morning.

This time, Harry was the first one to finish eating. Remembering what the man said the day before, he patiently waited for the professor to finish eating.

"If you are done, you may bring the gifts under the tree," said Snape reluctantly. He wasn't evil enough to deprive the boy of Christmas after all. Evidently, Harry thought otherwise, and his eyes betrayed the shock he felt.

"You want me to open them here?" he asked, not liking the idea one bit.

"I would prefer you do it here, just in case your fan club sends you anything inappropriate."

The teenager huffed but did as the man asked. He only brought his gifts as he doubted Snape would be joining him.

Eyeing the colorful boxes, he couldn't help but beam at them as he still found it hard to believe that he was actually receiving gifts. He excitedly picked out the largest from the pile as it was the most easily reachable from where he was seated.

Reading the tag, he saw that it had come from Hagrid. After making sure that there were no strange clawing, scratching, or growling sounds coming from the package, he quickly ripped the colorful paper to reveal a large white box. Upon opening it, he found Hagrid's infamous rock cake. There was also a letter inside saying that the half giant noticed how quickly he and his friends gulped down the cakes whenever he served them, and so he gave them all the same gift. He smiled to himself, feeling slightly amused at the thought of Hagrid thinking that they actually liked his rock cakes.

Snape frowned when he saw the smile adorning the teenager's face. Hagrid's rock cakes were almost completely inedible, and he wondered why the boy hadn't been having tantrums about it yet. He imagined it was because of his presence.

Harry opened yet another present. This one was from the headmaster, and it contained a pair of red socks with Snitches on them.

"Brilliant," he whispered, loving the socks. He had always wondered where Dumbledore was getting his gifts.

At that, Snape's frown deepened. Perhaps the headmaster wasn't the only one with an odd taste in fashion.

From Ron, Harry received different treats from Honeydukes. Having been denied such things in his childhood, he thoroughly enjoyed them. The last package was from Hermione, and his eyes widened upon seeing its content. The girl had given him a Broomstick Servicing Kit, complete with a handy black leather case, and it looked like it cost a lot of money.

He felt speechless as he stared at all his gifts. There was a time when he didn't even expect to receive anything other than the insulting gifts from his family. He was surprised they didn't send him a used candy wrapper or something equally absurd this year but was relieved at the same time. He didn't know how he would explain that to Snape, who would surely question him.

The Potions Master watched the boy, feeling the opposite of happy. The more he looked at Harry, the more confused he felt. Where were the complaints, the ungratefulness? In his opinion, the only respectable gift in the pile was the one from the Granger girl, but the teenager looked like he had just received his inheritance. His smile reached his ears, and it was making Snape sick.

"Your relatives don't believe in Christmas?" asked the man, effectively ruining the Gryffindor's mood.

"They sent their gifts early."

__A lie. Interesting.__

"Is that so? And what did you receive? An expensive broomstick, perhaps?" asked Snape.

"They're __Muggles__," said Harry, caught by surprise. He didn't expect the man to ask such a question, and he hated getting caught off guard.

"Ah, yes. And I suppose Precious Potter thinks he is above receiving gifts from __Muggles__," the Potions Master spat, his tone vicious.

"I never said that! What the hell is wrong with you?" yelled Harry. He hated talking about his relatives, but he hated Snape even more.

"Do not yell at me, Potter!"

"You started it!" said the boy, glaring hard at his professor.

"Is famous Potter above respecting others?" sneered the man. "You are ungrateful, just like your father was."

"You've never respected me either!" said Harry, his anger reaching its peak. He stood up on impulse and towered over Snape, who was sitting still, a false image of calm broken only by the flaring of his nose. "You always compare me to my father. Well, here's some news to you—I'VE NEVER MET HIM! WHY DO YOU INSIST ON MAKING OTHER PEOPLE MISERABLE JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE?"

"I will not be spoken to like that in my own house!" said Snape, grabbing the boy's collar. He felt the anger bubbling inside him. He was well aware that he had started this, but the Gryffindor was yelling at him, and he didn't have that much patience.

As the man released him, Harry felt himself thrown back by the force. He stormed out, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. For a brief moment, he thought the older wizard would actually hit him. He retreated to his room, leaving his gifts on the kitchen table. He hoped that the professor wouldn't be vindictive enough to throw them while he was away.

Furious, Snape slammed the table as he charged up the stairs, half tempted to drag the teenager back down by the ear to give him a lecture. Instead, he went into his own room, thinking about how lucky the arrogant brat was that school wasn't in session, or he would be the first student in the history of Hogwarts to serve detention during Christmas.

Stuck in his room, Harry was beginning to feel his temper cool down, if only a little bit. He hated Snape. He __hated __him. Why couldn't they go on ignoring each other? Snape and his stupid bloody rules. It was a wonder the git even received gifts for Christmas. People must have felt sorry for him.

After mentally cursing the professor into oblivion, he felt significantly better. But now, he had something else to worry about. He was under no illusion that Snape was a kind man. Surely the professor would make his life hell in the next few days, and there was nothing he could do about it.

As Harry thought about the events this morning, he felt worse and worse, and not only because of the fear of how the man would retaliate. Snape was a vindictive bastard, yes, but that didn't mean that he should stoop down to git's level, which was pretty low by his standards. He felt bad for having called his professor miserable, and though it was true, no one liked to hear that.

He suddenly felt bad, realizing that he had never actually insulted the man in his life. Well, not to his face, at least. Sure, he had been rude, defiant, and sarcastic, but this was new. He didn't want to grow up to be a cold, bloody git like his professor, and he wished they could continue ignoring each other. Snape just knew how to bring out the worst in him.

At noon, he wondered if the man was going to allow him to eat. He wasn't overly worried, having survived without meals for days, but the assurance that he would have food was the only thing that made living there slightly better than back in Privet Drive. He once again thought of the Potions Master, almost certain that he would be denied food just to be shown his place, but he felt guilty when a tray of food appeared moments later. The same thing happened at dinner, and he didn't see the man for the rest of the day.

Back in his room, Snape poured himself a glass of whiskey, his thoughts on a certain green eyed boy. He was angry. Potter—Harry—was just like his father. He was arrogant, disrespectful, and believed himself above others.

However, as memories of this morning came back, he wondered if that was still true. He had seen the way the boy's eyes lit up upon opening his presents. The gifts were in no way extravagant, yet Harry had seemed genuinely happy. Then, there was also the matter of his relatives. He claimed that he had received his gifts early, which had clearly been a lie. Even if he weren't a Legilimens, he would know that. The teenager was awful at lying, but why lie at all? What was there to hide?

So many questions occupied his mind and none of them were any close to getting answered. He needed some time alone to sort things out, which was why he let Harry eat in his room. He was thankful that Dumbledore offered to provide them with food, because he didn't feel like playing nanny to the Gryffindor.

Without Hogwarts' Elves, he would have had to personally see the boy if only to inform him that food was ready. Cruel as people might think he was, he didn't allow children to starve no matter how much they managed to grate on his nerves, and the spawn of James Potter was no exception.

Making a quick decision, Snape gulped down his whiskey, his eyes gleaming with determination. Tomorrow, he would find out more. Tomorrow, he would get the boy to talk, if that was the last thing he did.


	4. Chapter 4

****Chapter Four****

Breakfast was quiet as Snape and Harry recalled the events of the previous day. Christmas had ended badly for both of them, and neither wanted to apologize to the other.

Harry took a deep breath, deciding to take the first step. He hated the professor for always picking on him, but he didn't want to insult the man in the same way he was being insulted.

Clearing his throat, he gathered his courage and said, "I'm sorry about yesterday, Professor." His eyes trailed on the other wizard. If Snape was going to be a bastard about this, that was the time to do it.

The man looked up and nodded curtly, his face betraying nothing of his surprise. He was unsure of how to respond, never having expected the boy to be gracious enough to apologize. Frankly, he had expected more defiance on the teenager's part, and the apology had thrown him off guard. He was well aware that the respectful thing to do was to come up with his own apology since he was partly responsible for Harry's outburst, but he was not accustomed to doing it.

"As I am your professor, I expect to be treated with respect at all times," he said, folding his hands on the table as it cleared.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. There he was, stomping down on his pride and apologizing, and the professor was just going to pin the entire thing on him. He was about to get up when the man continued to speak.

"However," he said, sitting up straighter. "I recognize that I may not have been returning the respect that I ask of you."

It took the teenager moments to understand that Snape was making a lousy attempt at an apology. Why couldn't the man just say sorry and get this over with? The apology in itself was enough to make him feel confused. He was almost certain that his professor would just brush his sincere apology as an attempt to make himself look good.

They sat in silence, and Harry felt a drop of sweat trickling down his forehead. He wiped it away with his arm, wondering if the conversation was making him nervous. He belatedly realized that he was sweating because of his thick clothes.

"Potter, why are you wearing that sweater?" asked Snape as he eyed the Gryffindor's choice of clothing—a thick maroon sweater with a large golden H in the middle—with distaste.

"It's a gift from Mrs. Weasley," said the boy defensively, wondering why the man was suddenly picking on his choice of clothing.

"I suggest you change it. My house has an automatic Warming Charm in place; it will not get cold here," said Snape. Harry hadn't noticed it since he was wearing thin clothes during the first two days.

"I like this sweater," said the boy, his tone defiant. The truth was, he didn't have any more decent clothes left apart from two Weasley sweaters, the one he had on being one of the two.

"Don't be an idiot, Potter; you're sweating through your clothes. If you don't change, you'll get pneumonia!" said the man, his temper once again rising.

"Why do you care?!"

"Because I have to deal with you if you get sick, and I do not intend to spend my Christmas vacation playing nursemaid!" snapped the man. Why was it so difficult to reason with the boy? There he was, being concerned, and the Gryffindor was being nothing but ungrateful.

"You just don't like it because it's not in Slytherin colors!" responded Harry. He walked out of the kitchen for the hundredth time since he first arrived, prepared to camp inside his room until tomorrow; that was quickly becoming a routine for them.

Snape followed the boy into his room, furious. There was no way he was going to take this disrespect any longer. This was his house, and he was going to take control of the situation, even if said situation was related to Harry's clothes. This emotional roller coaster was making him uncomfortable. That morning, he had to disregard his pride and make an apology, and now he had to deal with a moody teenager.

He reached the room he so graciously offered the boy and pushed the door open, hard enough to make it slam into the wall. The impact produced a loud noise, and he saw the younger wizard flinch.

He forcefully grabbed Harry's arm, intending to shake some sense into the younger wizard. When the Gryffindor flinched for the second time that day, the man loosened his grip but kept his hold on the boy's arm.

"We will talk about this behavior of yours __now__," said Snape, his eyes piercing other wizard's. He saw a mixture of fear and defiance in them. Anticipating Harry's actions, he held the boy's arm firmly, making it impossible for the teenager to yank it away.

"Let go!" said Harry, sensing the beginning of a panic attack.

"No. I will not tolerate this any longer," said the man. "I will not let you walk around my house acting like the arrogant teenager that you are!"

Harry glared at the professor, suddenly feeling trapped, and his breathing quickened.

Snape dragged the boy to his trunk, glaring as he did it. "I made a reasonable request for you to change your clothes so you don't get your foolish self sick. Is it necessary to throw a tantrum over something so simple?"

He forcefully opened the trunk and found a pile of clothes. He then reached for a clump of them and shoved them into the younger wizard's hands, the remaining T-shirts falling on the floor in an ugly heap.

Harry felt something snap inside of him as he looked at the clothes on the floor.

"You want to know the truth?" he challenged, his eyes pooling with angry tears. He showed Snape the large T-shirt he was holding, the fabric thin with use. Several other shirts looked equally horrendous, some containing holes, the others adorned with permanent dirt marks. "There's your answer," he said, slamming the shirt he held into the man's chest as he left.

Snape heard the door to the bathroom slam shut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. This was certainly not what he had been expecting; he thought it was just some childish act of defiance.

__You wanted to know? Well, there's your answer, Severus__, he thought, echoing the younger wizard's statement. Had he known that the boy was acting like this because of his worn clothes, he would never have allowed such a confrontation to occur. All of a sudden, he felt like a right bastard.

Picking up the pieces of rubbish that Harry's relatives deemed as clothes, he exited the room and turned to his own, needing some time to think. He had been doing a lot of that lately, and it was making his head hurt.

He threw the clothes on the floor and stared at them as he thought. So Potter wasn't being treated well by his relatives; that explained the lies. Was Dumbledore aware of this? He knew that the old wizard cared for the boy dearly as he felt personally responsible for the Gryffindor's welfare.

If the boy was being deprived of proper clothes, then there was a chance that things were much worse than it seemed. Perhaps there was physical abuse as well, he thought and hoped dearly that he was wrong. He didn't think he could live with the fact that he had been thinking of Harry as __Precious Potter __all this time. Even if he hated the teenager, he didn't believe him deserving of neglect, let alone abuse.

Snape sighed, not liking where his thoughts were heading; things were a little too close to his childhood for comfort. He quickly made up his mind and cast an __Incendio __on the pile of clothes. He wanted—needed—to know more and decided that he would make the Gryffindor talk, even if he had to shove __Veritaserum __down the boy's throat. Of course, that was illegal, but who would find out?

* * *

Hours later, Harry's tears finally subsided. He didn't know why he had been crying; he was just so __angry__.

He forcefully wiped at his eyes, hating himself for being so weak. What was wrong with him? So what if Snape knew? So what if the man used this knowledge against him? He had always been able to stand up to the professor, and he wasn't going to let the bloody git push him around for this.

He had never felt so embarrassed in his life, and he just wanted to disappear. If there weren't any Anti-Apparition Wards in the house, he suspected that accidental magic might have already taken him to Merlin knows where.

Harry rose from where he was crouched and stood in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection for a long time. His breath hitched as he inspected himself. His nose was red and his eyes puffy; he looked pathetic, really. He washed his face and dried it with a towel, realizing that he felt lighter after crying. When he felt that his face finally looked decent—well, as decent as it could get after hours of crying—he decided to let himself out.

Slowly cracking the door open, he wished that he wouldn't bump into Snape. Fortunately, the professor was nowhere in sight, and he quickly ran back to his room. As he entered, he was surprised to see that the rags which his family graciously called clothes were gone. His trunk was empty but for the other Weasley sweater that he had.

He found that he didn't care; he wouldn't wear them anyway. If he had any choice on the matter, he would rather spend the rest of his Christmas break in the guestroom, where no one would judge him. He had felt strangely at home in there, and it was ironic that he even associated the word "home" with any part of the Potions Master's house.

He climbed onto his bed and snuggled under his sheets, feeling comfortable. Then, he took out his new Broomstick Servicing Kit and read the manual, intending to use it as soon as he was back at Hogwarts. It was one of the things that he looked forward to about getting back to the castle apart from being Snape-free. Flying had always been an escape for him, and he wished he could do it then. Unfortunately, he had left his broom in the castle, knowing that he would never be allowed to use it in the man's house.

After the events of the day, he was not surprised to find his lunch and dinner on his study table. Harry ate vigorously even though he wasn't hungry. Having gone too many nights with an empty stomach, he quickly learned to appreciate the value of food. Who would have thought that the Dursleys had actually imparted anything useful to him? To be fair, he did learn how to cook and do chores at an early age. Still, that didn't excuse their treatment of him. Was it so difficult to see him as something other than a burden?

After finishing his dinner, he returned to the comforts of his bed and lay there for a long time, his mind dwelling on the fear of facing Snape the next day; the professor would surely be intolerable. He dreaded having to speak to the man but knew that it was inevitable, and he resigned himself to his fate.

After an emotionally trying day, Harry allowed sleep to claim him. He dreamt of catching the Snitch and of Gryffindor winning the House Cup over Slytherin.

All too sudden, it was morning again. As memories of the previous day came rushing back to Harry's mind, he readied himself for the inevitable.


	5. Chapter 5

****Chapter Five****

Harry stared at the mirror and observed his swollen eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept for ages with the bags under his eyes. There was no way that Snape wouldn't notice this, and he refused to think of how the man would taunt him about his crying.

There were only two things that people did after finding out about his life at Privet Drive. They either acted like he were fragile or teased him about it to no end, and he couldn't decide which was worse. If he had to guess, his professor would fall on the latter category, and it was making his stomach feel unsettled.

He looked at the clock and sighed, thinking that it was almost time for breakfast. He had noticed that they always had breakfast at eight in the morning, and he decided to spare the man the trouble of calling for him. Making his way downstairs, he felt his heart rate escalate.

As he entered the kitchen, he saw Snape hiding behind the newspaper. Upon sensing his presence, the man lowered the paper and gave him a once over, for once not commenting.

"What are you waiting for? Sit down," he said in his usual tone.

Harry quickly did as the man asked, silently observing the older wizard in the process. His eyes narrowed upon seeing what Snape was wearing—a thick black sweater. It occurred to him that the temperature in the room was significantly lower, and he wasn't sure what to think of it.

The Potions Master glared at the boy upon noticing him staring. He had purposely removed the Warming Charm in the house so that Harry could freely wear his sweater, but he didn't want to admit anything though he knew that the Gryffindor wasn't completely daft.

The food appeared, looking like a banquet instead of breakfast for two, as usual. They ate silently, the tension hanging between them.

"After breakfast, I should like you to accompany me somewhere," he said as he looked up at the other wizard, seeing him nod. He finished his breakfast quickly and asked to be excused.

Surprisingly, the professor agreed with a curt nod of his head. "Come down after half an hour."

With that, the boy disappeared to his room, his head reeling with thoughts. Why was Snape, the Slytherin Head, the evil git who made his life hell, doing this? Probably so that he wouldn't have the added responsibility of nursing him back to health. Yes, that made much more sense.

When he next chanced a glance at the clock, he jumped up, realizing that it was almost time for them to leave. Not wanting to give the man any reason to take his anger out on him, he quickly peeled himself off the bed and went downstairs.

"Come, Potter," said Snape as soon as he appeared. He wore a black long-sleeved shirt and slacks.

He looked at the scrawny teenager, frowning. He raised his wand and waved it in a complex pattern, making the boy slightly flinch. Harry's skin suddenly become a shade paler. His scar faded completely. His eyes and hair turned brown, and his face became rounder. The professor nodded, satisfied.

"Where are we going, Sir?" asked the younger wizard as he followed the professor outside. He felt the man grab his arm and felt the odd sensation of being squashed into a tight tube.

"What was that you just did, Sir?" he asked, slightly peeved at the feeling that he was forced to experience. He was surprised to find himself in the middle of Diagon Alley.

"Apparition. You needn't worry about it until you are seventeen," said Snape without looking at Harry. He was busy surveying his surroundings, failing to realize that he still had his hold on the teenager's arm.

He led the boy through the crowded street, witches and wizards in colorful outfits surrounding them. They ended up in Gringotts, where several goblins gloomily stood, minding their own business.

A haughty looking goblin approached them, and Snape requested a private audience.

"I require access to my vault," he said as he handed the goblin his key. "Mr. Potter here would also like to make a transaction."

Harry looked up questioningly at the mention of his name.

"I have an errand to run in Muggle London. Perhaps you'd like to take this chance to purchase some much needed clothes as well?" asked the man, his face impassive. The boy blushed and averted his gaze, merely nodding in response.

"Very well," continued the professor. "It would be wise to have some of your gold converted into Muggle currency."

The goblin led them to their vaults. They went to Snape's first, then to Harry's. After the transaction, he took hold of the boy's arm once again and Apparated into an empty alley.

As he led Harry into the main street, the boy found himself in awe at everything he saw, never having been to this part of London before. As a matter of fact, he had barely been anywhere except for a few trips where his relatives had been forced to string him along because their next door neighbor Mrs. Figg was unavailable.

Around them, men, women, and children all walked around, seemingly in a hurry. The place was packed with people, and both wizards felt overwhelmed, though neither admitted anything.

Snape walked on with a purpose, while Harry trailed silently behind. They entered the first clothing establishment they saw, which contained everything from casual wear to formal clothes.

"May I help you, Sir?" asked a young lady, a bright smile on her face.

"He is in need of several clothes as he is quickly growing out of his old ones," said Snape. The woman's eyes landed on Harry, and her smile turned even brighter, if possible. It grated on the man's nerves.

"Hello there," she said cheerfully, seemingly mistaking the teenager for a younger boy. His body was smaller than most thirteen-year-old boys after all, so it was an acceptable assumption. "Is he your son?"

Harry was about to protest, but Snape was quick to respond.

"Go and follow her, Harry," said the man, and Harry's eyes nearly popped out in surprise. Seeing the professor's glare in his direction, however, he quickly averted his gaze, schooling his expression back to what he hoped was indifference.

The saleslady escorted the teenager to a whole section of clothes, and he suddenly felt overwhelmed. Sensing that the boy didn't want her there, she told him to call for her if he needed anything or if he was done picking out clothes. Relieved, Harry thanked her and turned to the clothes in front of him.

Not knowing the first thing about shopping, he stood there awkwardly and fumbled with some of the clothes. What was he even looking for? How many should he buy? Which ones should he choose?

He sighed and began seriously looking at the clothes. Deciding to only get what was necessary, he thought of getting a week's worth of tops, bottoms, and, to his embarrassment, underpants. Surely that was more than enough; he didn't even wear casual clothes that often. At Hogwarts, he had his uniform. Even when he spent Christmas break there, he had the Weasley sweaters. Besides, nobody really noticed his worn clothes because there were usually only a few students who stayed over and his school robes were large enough to cover them. He seriously doubted that the Dursleys would care about what he wore, so a week's worth of clothes was most definitely enough.

Convinced of this, he began picking out clothes at random. As long as they weren't repulsive, he took them. He was shocked upon seeing the price at first, but he realized that he didn't know what was the acceptable price range for clothes. Thus, he chose the least expensive of them and quickly called for the saleslady, who helped take the clothes to the cashier.

After paying, he found himself reunited with Snape.

"How many did you get?" asked the man, eyeing the suspiciously small bag in the boy's hand.

"A week's worth, Sir," said Harry. The older wizard looked like he was about to protest, but he said nothing. His lips were pursed in disapproval, however, and the Gryffindor knew that he had wanted him to get more than that.

They turned back to the alley where they had Apparated to, and Snape extended his arm.

"What about your errand, Sir?" asked the teenager suddenly, remembering why they were there in the first place.

"What?" snapped the man. He mentally cursed when he remembered his excuse for going there, and he fixed the boy a glare. "I've already settled it while you were shopping for clothes."

"Oh," said Harry.

"Grab my arm, Potter. I do not have all day," said Snape impatiently. The Gryffindor did as the man asked, and they reappeared at the professor's front door.

"I will be out for lunch. You may choose to eat in your room if you wish," he said as soon as they were inside the house. Harry nodded and hesitated before running up the stairs.

"Thank you for today, Sir," he said after battling with himself. Snape did take him to Muggle London even though he wasn't required to, and he was grateful for it.

The professor nodded curtly, unsure how to respond. A respectful Potter he did not know how to deal with. Deciding not to let the awkwardness hang between them, the boy went upstairs and hid inside his room.

Carefully taking out his new clothes, he laid them out on the bed before putting them in his trunk. Now that the issue of clothes was resolved, he didn't have much else to worry about.

Thinking back to their trip earlier, he realized that Snape had actually been decent. Not once did the man tease him about his lack of clothes nor did he show pity, and that was odd. The professor wasn't exactly kind, but something was definitely off.

He was almost certain that Snape didn't know what he was talking about when he asked about the errand the man was supposed to complete, but it didn't make sense. His professor was probably just distracted. The man couldn't possibly make up an excuse just to escort him to get clothes, could he? No, that wasn't like him at all.

He sighed, knowing that he would never get answers even if he were stupid enough to personally ask the professor about it.

* * *

Snape sat alone in his living room, drinking his wine leisurely. He stared at the large package on the coffee table, frowning. He had just returned from Muggle London for the second time that day, and he wasn't sure why he had gone back there in the first place.

Seeing that the boy only saw fit to buy a week's worth of clothes, he felt something inside him stir. He couldn't believe he had just bought the teenager several more shirts, jeans, and jumpers.

He glared at his purchases as he sipped his wine. Now, how was he supposed to give them to Harry? Surely the Gryffindor would think he pitied him—or worse, cared about him—and he did not. If Dumbledore found out, his eyes would never stop twinkling! Just the thought of it made him feel nauseated. He was merely providing what the boy's stupid relatives could not—would not; it was no big deal.

With a flick of his wand, he sent the clothes to his own bedroom. There was no way he could give them to the brat. If only he could somehow make Harry believe that Dumbledore was responsible for this, then he wouldn't be in this difficult situation. However, he didn't want the Gryffindor to believe that he had betrayed his trust. Snape scowled once again. Where had that sentiment come from?

Potter and his stupid relatives. Perhaps he could just donate the clothes to charity. But even as he thought it, he knew that he wanted the boy to have the clothes. He would just have to find a way to do it without arousing too much suspicion.


	6. Chapter 6

****Chapter Six****

"The headmaster will be here in a while," said Snape as he eyed Harry, who was wearing a plain black shirt and blue jeans. He secretly thanked the stars that the Gryffindor didn't share Dumbledore's taste in fashion, or he'd be staring at another wizard clad in the horrendous shades of violet and silver.

He saw the boy's eyes light up, and he felt a small pang in his chest. Of course his presence wasn't enough; he was just a boring old wizard who had no business living with children. Dumbledore was fun; everyone loved the headmaster's doting grandfather image, unlike the evil Potions Master who made everyone's lives miserable. He sent these thoughts to the back of his mind, not wanting to dwell on them. He had more important things to deal with at the moment.

"Tell me honestly, Potter," he said as he folded his hands in front of him, his eyes calculating. "What is the real reason you are here?"

"The school's closed," said Harry, confusion evident in his tone.

The man rolled his eyes. "I meant why are you here instead of with your relatives."

The boy's expression changed. He suddenly seemed careful and more alert as the familiar mask settled on his face. "Didn't Dumbledore tell you?"

"__Professor __Dumbledore told me that they were unavailable, but that is not entirely true, am I correct?" said Snape, raising an eyebrow and earning a glare from Harry. His face remained impassive.

"Why do you want to know?" asked the boy. He had already suffered enough embarrassment to last him a lifetime. What more did the professor want from him?

"You are living in my house. The least you could do is tell me why I have to house you," said the man, recognizing that he had won this argument when he saw a slight change in the younger wizard's expression.

Harry sighed. "They didn't want to take me."

Snape nodded, having expected this. "Why?"

"Because they hate me!" said the boy, feeling agitated. His breathing became quicker, and his nose flared involuntarily. It was almost cruel, making him say the truth aloud.

"Why do your relatives hate you?" asked the man, feeling like a Muggle shrink. He wanted to get answers, and he hoped to get information without having to resort to more drastic methods.

__Because they hate magic. Because I'm a freak. Because I'm a burden. __The thoughts flickered across Harry's mind, but he paid them no heed.

He glared at the man. "I don't know! Why do __you __hate me?"

"I do not," responded Snape slowly, as though trying to believe the statement himself.

The boy looked at him in surprise, then his expression abruptly changed to disbelief. "Stop lying."

"I am not. I do not hate you, Potter, nor do I like you," said the man reasonably. "Perhaps... I have misjudged you in the past."

This made Harry look—really look—at his professor. He saw no trace of emotion on Snape's face, but somehow, the older wizard's eyes shone with sincerity. He nodded, acknowledging this.

"They hate magic," he said quietly, looking at his hands.

"Did they ever... hurt you?" asked the man, keeping his tone neutral.

"No," said the boy truthfully. "They made me do all the house work, but they never... beat me."

"They didn't feed you properly," said Snape as he watched the teenager's small form. The Gryffindor simply didn't eat enough, probably due to the irregular meals back in his __loving____home__. His arms and legs were thin, and he looked far from healthy.

"They usually let me eat," he said, looking anywhere but at the professor. He realized the implications of what he said and felt compelled to expound. "I mean, they gave me food. Not as much as they did my cousin, but they didn't starve me unless I didn't do my chores properly."

He continued to avert his gaze, not wanting to see what the man's eyes held. In doing so, he failed to witness the lingering concern behind them.

"And did your cousin have these __chores __as well?" asked Snape, though he already knew the answer. He just wanted to keep the boy talking.

"No," said Harry, momentarily amused by the thought of Dudley trying to work a vacuum cleaner. "I don't think he even knows what that means."

"Does Albus—Professor Dumbledore—know about this?" asked the man, and the boy gave a shrug, seemingly resigned to his fate. Harry believed his situation was inevitable, so what the headmaster knew or didn't know was of no consequence to him.

Just then, the Floo flared, and both wizards turned to look. Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace, brushing invisible soot off his robes. He beamed upon seeing the two inhabitants of the house willingly spending time with each other.

"Ah, Severus, Harry," said the old wizard as he approached them.

"Headmaster," acknowledged Snape.

"Hello, Professor," said Harry, smiling in return. Dumbledore eyed the boy, his smile turning even brighter. His eyes contained an odd twinkle as he turned to the other man.

The Potions Master scowled, daring the old man to make a comment. The last thing he wanted was for the boy to feel awkward about his clothes. The headmaster seemed to understand, but his eyes continued to twinkle.

"Potter, why don't you go play in your room?" said Snape. Harry scowled, a habit he seemed to be picking up from the professor, but obeyed nonetheless.

"It was nice seeing you, Sir," said the boy as he made his way up the stairs.

As soon as he left, Dumbledore turned his attention to the Potions Master, who once again scowled in turn.

"Stop looking at me like that," he said.

"You bought him clothes," stated the old wizard, his expression unchanging.

"Did you not see the __clothes __he used to have?" returned the man, his anger flaring.

"What is wrong with Harry's clothes?" asked the old wizard, his eyes shining with concern.

Deciding to tell the headmaster the truth, Snape said, "They are horrendous, Albus."

"They never did treat him as one of their own," said Dumbledore, his eyes shining with sadness. "I always knew that Harry was unhappy, but I never imagined he was being neglected to the point of not having decent clothes. Forgive me, Severus. I only noticed that his clothes looked new, and I assumed you had something to do with it."

"I did not buy him the clothes," said the younger man, turning away. "Potter bought them with his own money. I merely brought him with me to London for an errand."

He was glad that he didn't offer to pay for the clothes. Harry would not have taken kindly to that. Besides, the Potter fortune was more than enough to last the boy a lifetime even if he never lifted a finger to work.

His mind returned to the package full of clothes in his room, and he Occluded lest Dumbledore decided to take a stroll in his mind and find out about it.

"In Muggle London?" asked the older man, his tone incredulous. "What errand could you possibly have that requires you to go to such a place?"

"It's personal!" said Snape, feeling defensive all of a sudden. He knew for a fact that the headmaster was not daft, and it irked him.

"Severus, just admit it. You've come to care for the boy," said Dumbledore, his statement containing no hint of judgment.

"I am only doing what Potter's relatives cannot," said the younger man as he began pacing.

"And you can do more than that," said the headmaster, his tone laced with meaning.

"What are you saying, Albus?" he said, suddenly stopping in his tracks. His eyes bored into other's.

"You can take over guardianship of the boy, Severus."

"Why now?"

"Your feelings for Harry have always been less than positive. I felt no need to remove him from his home," said Dumbledore matter-of-factly. "At least with his relatives, there are the Blood Wards to keep him safe."

"I may not have liked the boy, but I would never have treated him like a common House Elf!" argued Snape, his temper rising. How dare the old man compare him to the Dursleys? They couldn't even provide the teenager with his basic needs! "With me, he would've been properly clothed and fed, at the very least."

"I meant no offense, Severus. I can see that your opinion of the boy has changed, and I am happy for this change. I admit that Harry is the safest with the Blood Wards, but I would not wish him a life void of love if I had a choice. Now, he has a chance at a new life," said Dumbledore as he looked at the younger wizard seriously. "You have no children; you can provide him with the attention he needs. I believe he is also safe with you as no one would suspect that you are housing Harry Potter. Think about it, Severus."

"I cannot provide what he needs," said Snape, his expression darkening. "I can give him food and clothes, proper guidance, but I am not a caring man. I am not equipped to be a parent, Albus, and you know it."

"Quite the contrary, Severus. I believe Harry has begun to trust you," said Dumbledore, his eyes imploring his long-time friend to see the truth.

"He is better off with the Weasleys!" hissed Snape, beginning to pace once again.

"You know as well as I do that Harry cannot go there," said the old wizard as he watched his colleague walk back and forth. "If you do not agree to take him, I am afraid he must go back to Privet Drive."

Snape paced for a few more moments before abruptly turning to the headmaster, his eyes clouded with confusion. "I need time."

"You have until the end of the school year to decide, Severus."

Snape nodded curtly, turning his back on the other man. Dumbledore had just given him a lot to think of, and he needed some time to process everything.

"I will leave you to think," said the headmaster as he turned back to the Floo. Snape let the older wizard leave before retiring to his own room, his mind occupied with thoughts of the boy in his guestroom.

* * *

Snape stared at the boy throughout dinner, barely eating anything. He vaguely saw the younger wizard serve himself a small portion of chicken, peas, and soup.

"Sir?" Harry finally called. He had noticed the professor staring at him for a while now, though he wasn't sure why. He suddenly felt self conscious.

The man started, feeling like a child who had just gotten caught misbehaving. He scowled but didn't say anything. Instead, he ate what little food he got on his plate.

"Have you finished your homework?" he asked casually, like he hadn't just been staring at the boy all this time.

"No, Sir," answered Harry, surprised at the sudden question. Snape was actually the only teacher cruel enough to assign a lengthy essay over Christmas break, so there wasn't that much to do. He had to wonder why the professor developed a sudden interest in his life; it wasn't like the man at all.

"If you need help, you may ask me," said Snape, wiping his mouth on a napkin. He then stood and left without a word, making Harry gape at his retreating figure.

After the older wizard left, he sat there for several seconds before retreating to his own room, his mind still occupied by Snape's strange actions. As he reached his room, he decided to get started on his homework. Perhaps he could use the professor's help after all. The man did offer, and it seemed like a waste to pass up on the opportunity.

Back in his room, Snape sat on his bed, his mind once again filled with thoughts of the green-eyed boy. Seeing Harry at dinner, he realized that he couldn't allow the child—for he was far too young to experience such cruelty—to return to Privet Drive, not when he could provide a better home. He might not be able to provide love as much as the Weasleys or any other normal family could, but at least Harry had a place there. He would not allow the boy to continue without guidance, without a home to return to.

It was true; he had come to care for the young wizard, just as the headmaster had said. He didn't know how that came to be, especially since he had hated Harry's guts just a few days ago, but the realization that the Gryffindor had lived a rough life hit him hard.

He didn't think he could live with himself if he just let the teenager return to his relatives, where they would continue to treat him like scum. He knew that the boy wasn't that much better off with him, but he would at least make an effort to provide what he needed.

Snape made his decision. All that was left to do was to tell Harry and see if he would agree, but that was where the real challenge began.


	7. Chapter 7

****Chapter Seven****

"I've started on my homework, Sir," said Harry when he saw Snape on the couch, reading a particularly thick Potions book. The man raised an eyebrow, surprised at seeing the boy out of his room; the teenager only ever left for meals.

Marking the page he was reading, he closed the book and turned his attention to the Gryffindor. "I assume you have a purpose for mentioning this?" he asked when he heard nothing from the younger wizard.

"I was wondering if I could... if it would be possible... do you... I mean, could I... er..." Harry suddenly felt stupid, certain that Snape thought the same of him.

"In English this time, Potter," said the man, amused at the sight of the Gryffindor reduced to a bumbling idiot. The boy usually had something to say, especially if it was to talk back.

Harry took a deep breath before speaking. "I was just wondering if I could borrow some references from you," he asked, feeling slightly awkward as he said this. He had never voluntarily asked an adult for anything before, and the professor wasn't exactly the nicest person in the universe. "My book doesn't specify the properties of most ingredients for the Shrinking Solution, so I can't write about what could possibly cause it to turn poisonous when brewed incorrectly."

"I am well aware of what your book lacks, Potter," said the man, frowning as he noted the uncertainty and mild fear in the teenager's reaction. Did he really think him so cruel as to deny him help? Hadn't he been more agreeable in the last few days? He stood up and grabbed two worn books from his bookshelf. He handed them to the Gryffindor and said, "You should find these useful."

"Thanks, Sir," said Harry, smiling. He was genuinely surprised that he hadn't received so much as an insult from the other wizard, and it made him feel something he couldn't quite identify. He gently carried the books, almost as though they were fragile, and turned back to the stairs.

"Why don't you bring your homework down here?" Snape found himself saying. He didn't know why, but he felt reluctant to let the Gryffindor leave so suddenly. Uncertainty was written all over the teenager's face, but he nodded and raced up the stairs after a moment.

A few seconds later, he was back, quill, ink, and parchment in hand. He settled them down on the coffee table and took a seat. He saw the man glance down at his parchment, a frown forming on his lips.

"Is something wrong, Sir?" he asked. His heart hammered in his chest, suddenly wondering why he had agreed on working in front of the professor, who had never approved of anything he did and was probably going to begin releasing a string of insults for his abysmal work anytime soon.

"Continue working on that," said the man as he buried himself in his book once again.

Harry obediently finished his essay. After approximately two hours, he was finally done with his draft. He felt rather proud of himself; he had never worked hard on his homework, having neither the time nor the motivation to do so. Somehow, he felt different about this particular homework, and he suspected that being in the Potions Master's house had something to do with it.

Snape saw the younger wizard stretching from the corner of his eye, and he put his book down in favor of observing him. Harry seemed rather satisfied with himself, and he wondered if his work was satisfactory. The Gryffindor had never exerted much effort in his studies, and this was one of the reasons why he believed the teenager to be exactly like his father.

He remembered seeing bits of the boy's essay earlier, and he noted that it was already looking better than most of his previous work, but he had to see it in its entirety to make a judgment.

"I see you are finished with your essay," commented the man offhandedly. Harry started and looked at the other wizard, having momentarily forgotten that he was not alone; Snape had been quiet enough to blend in with the background.

"Er... yes, Sir," he said awkwardly, attempting to angle his work so that it wasn't easily visible to the Potions Master.

"Let me see," said the professor, and Harry suddenly felt dread. It was true that he was rather proud of this particular essay as it was the hardest he had ever worked for the subject, but he still felt insecure about his work.

"It's just a draft, Sir," he said, hoping to dissuade the man from reading his essay.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Potter, you know I'm going to read that when school resumes. You might as well let me check it before you hand it in officially."

Harry sighed, acknowledging that he wasn't going to get out of the situation. He handed his essay and hoped that the professor wouldn't tear it to shreds, both literally and figuratively.

Snape took the roll of parchment, seeing the Gryffindor chew his lip from his peripheral. He almost wanted to laugh at the boy's reaction but knew that it was a reasonable fear. He had been less than pleasant in the past, though he had no intention of being a bastard about the essay at the moment. In fact, he had no intention of ever returning his old ways.

His eyes scanned the essay in his hands, correcting some minor mistakes here and there. He added some notes on the sides in his tiny scrawl, and instead of the usual insults, he wrote down comments on how the essay could be further improved. Finally, after what seemed to Harry like an eternity, the man set his quill down.

"Your handwriting is truly atrocious," he commented, and the boy looked down, mentally preparing himself for the Potions Master's sharp tongue. Seeing the reaction, he continued. "But the content is acceptable. How come I've never seen this level of work before?"

Harry looked up, surprise evident in his face, though he didn't respond. He wasn't sure what to say, really. It was true that because of his relatives, he couldn't have done his summer homework even if he wanted to, but that didn't explain the work he handed in for the rest of the year. They certainly weren't as bad as Ron's, but they weren't his best work either. He decided that the professor deserved the truth, and it was exactly what he told the man. That morning, they seemed to have reached an understanding.

"Come, it is time for lunch," said Snape as he stood up from the couch. Harry followed suit, leaving his things on the coffee table.

As the food appeared, both of them ate heartily. For the first time, their meal was in no way awkward, and they spent the time together in comfortable silence.

"I received an owl from the headmaster this morning," said Snape, setting his fork down. Harry stopped eating, momentarily looking up at the man in curiosity. "He wishes to inform us that we shall be returning to Hogwarts in two days; the rest of the staff will be returning as well. The headmaster requires our presence for the feast on New Year's Eve."

The boy nodded, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. He felt an unexplainable sense of sadness upon hearing this, and he tried to squash it down. It didn't make sense at all. He should be rejoicing at the thought of returning to school. Didn't he hate the idea of living with Snape all this time? What was wrong with him?

He should have expected this, really. It wasn't like their arrangement was permanent, and he had known it from the start. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to his relationship with the Potions Master when they returned. Surely the professor would go back to being evil again, having no reason play nice to him. He felt something beginning to form in his chest—a familiar pang of sadness. After seeing this side of the man, he wasn't sure he could return to being at odds with the other wizard, but what could he do?

Harry resolutely ate his meal in silence. After they were both finished, he excused himself and brought his homework back into his room. Once alone, he focused on rewriting his essay, making sure to keep it neat.

Snape had watched the boy slowly climb up the stairs, wondering what happened. He thought that they were on some kind of truce, but the teenager became distant all of a sudden. Perhaps he was wrong and the Gryffindor wasn't interested in making peace after all.

He sighed, cursing teenagers and their complicated feelings. Deciding not to let this bother him, he returned to the living room and continued reading his book.

Dinner was the same. The younger wizard only spoke when Snape asked questions, and his answers were all stiff and short. The man was quickly getting tired of this attitude; he wasn't exactly a man of patience.

"Potter, what is wrong?" he asked as soon as they finished eating.

"Nothing, Sir," responded the boy. There was no way he was telling the other wizard that he was worried about going back to Hogwarts.

Harry saw the man cross his arms, fixing a glare in his direction, and it made him flinch. It was a subtle reminder of what he was going back to, and he didn't like it in the least.

"You can talk to me, or you can sit in the kitchen all day, because I have no intention of letting you leave until you give me an adequate answer," said the professor, his eyes piercing Harry's. He had the urge to use _Legilimens_ on the Gryffindor, but he stopped himself. He didn't learn the art so that he could prance around teenaged boys' heads.

"I already answered you, __Sir__."

So they were back to doing this, he thought.

"I thought we have reached an understanding. Was I wrong?" he asked, recognizing the boy's defiance as a defense mechanism. All this time, he had thought that the teenager was rude and arrogant, but he had been wrong.

"I'm sorry, Sir; I'm just tired. May I be excused?" asked Harry, hoping to get away as soon as possible. He didn't have the heart to talk to the man about this.

Snape crossed his arms. "I have made myself clear, Potter. If you wish to leave, you will tell me what is wrong."

"I don't know, Sir," said the Gryffindor, sounding exasperated.

"Clearly, you do."

"Why do you bother being nice when it's not going to last?" asked Harry, feeling his temper flare.

"Excuse me?"

"__This__," said the boy as he gestured to the two of them, agitated. "Whatever this is, it's not going to last. We're going back to Hogwarts in a few days. Why should I bother acting like this when everything's just going to go back to normal?"

__Ah. So that's why the boy is distancing himself. He is preparing himself for what he thinks is to come. __"Potter, did I say that I would go back to hating you once we step foot in Hogwarts?" asked the man, an eyebrow raised in question.

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. "No, but—"

"Then why do you go around assuming things?" continued Snape, effectively cutting off the teenager's response. "I will not treat you in the same way I did before."

"You won't?" asked the Gryffindor slowly, as though expecting the man to suddenly reveal that it was just a sick joke.

"I won't," said Snape, crossing his arms as he looked at the boy seriously. "For reasons I cannot explain, I may not be seen being nice to you. I doubt you would associate the word with me anyway. I do, however, promise to be civil, at the very least. I will not unnecessarily insult you in class or outside."

"You'll be civil?"

"Are you deaf, Potter? Yes, I will be civil. However, if you and Weasley continue to not pay attention in my class and rudely talk back to me, then you can certainly expect a lecture."

"I promise I won't do that," said Harry quickly, still looking at the professor oddly. Was he serious?

Snape nodded. "You cannot let anyone know that our relationship has changed in any way. There are dangers involved in this, and I only ask you to trust me in this matter. Do we have an agreement?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now that this matter is resolved, perhaps you'd like to join me in the sitting room for tea?" offered Snape, and Harry found himself smiling at the man. Perhaps he had nothing to worry about after all. Perhaps everything would be alright.


	8. Chapter 8

****Chapter Eight****

Snape had been eyeing the boy for several minutes now. He saw Harry fidgeting so much it was quickly becoming ridiculous. He sighed, knowing what was causing the teenager to act this way.

"Potter, come with me," he said, effectively making the Gryffindor obey.

Harry looked at the older wizard questioningly, but he received no reply. Following the man downstairs, he quickly realized that he had never been to the basement before. Through the darkness, he recognized the distinct smell of the Potions Master's office.

Snape turned the lights on, revealing his personal laboratory. Harry saw rows of ingredients neatly stacked on the shelves, each contained in a clear glass jar. Several shelves were lined with colorful vials, much like in the Hospital Wing.

He was led to a table which looked very much like their workspace in Potions class, except it was more spacious. He was pointed to a sink, where several dirty cauldrons lay. These cauldrons were much larger than the ones he was used to seeing.

"Wash those for me," said the professor impassively. The boy obeyed but silently wondered if he was being punished for anything. He decided that there would have been more cauldrons if this were detention, so he just shrugged and did as the man asked.

Snape watched the teenager work, glad to provide a distraction. Harry's muscles began to relax, if only slightly as he worked methodically—something he picked up from years of doing __chores __for his relatives. He quickly finished his task, drying the cauldrons with a clean rag and proceeding to present them to the professor, who found his work satisfactory.

"Crush those," ordered Snape as he pointed to the mortar and pestle to his left. The boy immediately set to work. Once he was done, he presented them to the Potions Master, who ordered him to do another task. This happened several more times until all the ingredients were ready to be used for the potion.

"What are you making, Sir?" asked Harry, watching the man start the fire.

"Supplies for the Hospital Wing. I thought I'd start with a batch of Cough Potion," said Snape as he began throwing ingredients into the cauldron. He mixed the concoction with his right hand, and he got the ingredients with his left hand from the Gryffindor, who picked out what he needed.

The professor worked in a graceful manner, and the boy watched, fascinated. He had never seen the other wizard so focused, so passionate about something before. The Potions Master seemed to have a world of his own, his mind solely on the potion in front of him. The man waved his wand, and the fire died down, breaking the trance that he seemed to have placed himself under while brewing.

He noticed Harry staring silently at him, the boy's eyes holding barely concealed adoration. "Help me bottle these," he said, watching the teenager start into action. As he scooped the potion into vials, he handed them to the younger wizard, who dutifully corked them before setting them aside.

"You know you are not as inept at Potions as I make you believe?" asked the man as he looked up, catching the boy's surprised expression.

"I don't think I'm as bad as Neville," said Harry, a hint of a smile forming on his lips. "But I'm pretty sure I don't have any talent in potion-making."

"Longbottom wouldn't be as bad as he is if he weren't reduced to a bundle of nerves in my presence," he said, involuntarily smirking out of habit. "As for you, I believe you are always distracted. With a room full of Slytherins who throw ingredients in your cauldron for fun and a teacher who does nothing but wait for the chance to humiliate you, there is a reasonable cause to be distracted."

Harry was surprised at the professor's blunt statement but knew that there was a hint of truth in what the man was saying.

"I've never actually taken your classes seriously," he admitted without looking at Snape. "Even without the distractions, I don't think it would have been much different."

"Then perhaps you would like to start anew?" asked the other wizard, handing the boy a small cauldron. This, Harry recognized as it was the same as the ones he used in class.

He smiled, taking the cauldron. "What should I brew, Sir?"

"Perhaps a Pepper Up Potion for Madam Pomfrey?" asked the professor, handing him the instructions.

"I don't think this is in our coverage, Sir," said Harry as his eyes scanned over the ingredients and the procedure.

"You are right. You will be learning to brew that in your fourth year."

"Maybe I should just make a simple Boil Cure Potion?" suggested the boy, seeing the man's eyebrow quirk up.

"You want to make a first-year potion? No, I believe you can brew the Pepper Up Potion with my supervision," said Snape, crossing his arms.

Harry sighed and nodded. He chewed on his lip as he began reaching for the ingredients he needed.

"Relax, Potter. I am not here to insult you," said the man when the Gryffindor looked apprehensive. "I will merely ensure that you do not come to harm, though that is not a volatile brew by nature, unless your last name is Longbottom."

Harry began preparing the required ingredients, his posture gradually relaxing as he fell into the rhythm of brewing. As soon as he finished the ingredient preparation, he started the fire.

"You'll want to spread the ingredients evenly to give it more balance," said Snape when he saw the Gryffindor dropping the ingredients in the middle of the cauldron. This was something that most students did out of habit, but it would make the brew less effective. Just like that, he watched the boy brew, correcting some bad practices when he could.

Once, Harry nearly missed a step, and the man immediately grabbed his arm, asking him to reread the instructions. As much as possible, he didn't point out the boy's errors explicitly. Instead, he let the teenager analyze things and come to his own conclusions.

After the last stir, Harry found himself looking at a bright red potion, exactly as he remembered the Pepper Up Potion from his stays in the Hospital Wing. He looked to Snape for confirmation, and the professor nodded. He gave the boy a nod of approval and asked him to bottle the potion.

"Congratulations, Potter. You have just successfully brewed a fourth year potion," he said, feeling oddly proud of the boy.

"I couldn't have done it alone, Sir," said Harry, flushing. He was not used to receiving compliments, especially from the man. He felt like he had just won the House Cup.

"You have talent, Potter," said the professor, and the teenager continued blushing. "I am not saying that you are destined to be the next Potions Master, but you can definitely do better than what you are doing now. In fact, I expect better from you from now on."

"I'll try, Sir," said Harry, his chest feeling warm from the man's compliments. Nobody had ever expected anything from him, and hearing an adult say something like that made him feel touched.

"How come you're the one brewing for Madam Pomfrey?" he asked as the thought struck him. He couldn't imagine why they couldn't just buy the potions from somewhere.

"Potions are expensive as only few have the patience to make them," said Snape, looking grim. Not many were interested in the subject, and most deemed it too complicated. Out of the several hundreds of students that graduated each year, only four or five actually pursued it. Most went to other fields, preferring to go for the more popular choices.

"You must be really busy, Sir, between teaching and brewing for Madam Pomfrey," said Harry, voicing his thoughts. He had never given it much thought in the past since he generally avoided thinking about the man.

"Did you only just realize this?" he said, though the question was mostly rhetorical. He began cleaning up the workspace, and Harry offered to help. As Snape cleaned up their workspace, the boy volunteered to do the washing. Afterward, the professor looked at his watch and frowned.

"We are rather late for lunch."

The Gryffindor looked up at the clock on one of the walls and saw that it was already half past one. He followed the older wizard back to the kitchen and sat down, realizing that he was hungry. They had spent the entire morning brewing, and it took a lot of energy from both wizards.

"We will be returning to Hogwarts tomorrow after breakfast," said the man casually as they ate. He watched the teenager, whose muscles slightly tensed for a moment.

Harry nodded. After the morning's brewing session, he felt slightly more relaxed than he did earlier, and he suspected that it was exactly what Snape was trying to achieve.

"Potter, tell me honestly," said the professor, his eyes boring into the boy's with intensity. "Is your stay here more tolerable than at your relatives'?"

The younger wizard's eyes widened. "Of course, Sir," he said, thinking that his stay there had been more than just tolerable but was embarrassed to admit anything.

The man seemed to be convinced of something. When he next spoke, his voice dropped low, almost whispering. "Would you... perhaps... accept my offer to take over your guardianship?"

The boy opened his mouth, but no words came out; the question had been sprung on him so suddenly. It took him a few seconds to compose himself, and he was finally able to close his mouth. "Would that be possible, Sir?"

Snape nodded, his gaze never leaving the younger wizard. "The headmaster initially approached me with the idea, and I found that it was not... objectionable."

"What about the wards?" asked the Gryffindor, finding it difficult to believe what was happening.

"You will be equally safe with me as no one will suspect your presence here," said the man, hoping that the boy would agree. He told him the gist of what he and Dumbledore had talked about, and Harry listened intently. After a while, he spoke.

"Yes," he said, his lips spreading into a genuine smile. "I would like that."

"Then it is decided," said Snape, letting loose a breath he didn't know he was holding. He knew that he had been a bastard to the younger wizard, and he hadn't expected to be forgiven; he generally thought that he wasn't someone worth forgiving. Even Lily, his only best friend, had not been able to give him that, yet there was her son, overlooking years of his verbal abuse and cruelty. Dumbledore was right; Harry did have a great capacity for forgiveness.

"What does that mean for us, Sir?" asked the teenager.

"It means that I will be responsible for your care until you are of age," said Snape. "I will provide you with a home, guidance, and discipline. We will still have to keep this a secret, of course, for obvious reasons, but things will not be much different from how they are now."

Harry's mind fixated on the word __home__. He realized that it was how he was beginning to see the place, and it made him feel warm. Happy. For the first time in his life, he belonged somewhere. For the first time, he had a place to return to, to look forward to returning to, and it felt overwhelming.

"Why would you want to be my guardian, Sir?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Because you deserve better than your relatives," said the man. "And simply because I want to."

"Thank you, Sir," said the boy, his eyes feeling misty.

"Do not thank me, Potter. I am not doing this as a favor; I am doing this because I want to," said the older wizard, his mind already coming up with the things he had to do to make this official. He would have to tell Dumbledore, then they would have to make it official with the Ministry. With the headmaster's influence, this shouldn't be difficult, even with his status as a former Death Eater. They would just have make it discreet, but having a few reliable contacts at the Ministry would ensure this.

"I know, but I still want to," said the Gryffindor. "Taking me in is no joke, and I appreciate that you're willing to do it for me."

"You're welcome... Harry," said the professor, surprising the boy once more. Harry gave him a childlike smile, and he returned it with one of his own; there truly was a first for everything.


	9. Chapter 9

****Chapter Nine****

Harry lay down on his bed, thinking of the events that afternoon. He felt thankful for the school closing down this year or he would never have gotten to know this other Snape. He still found it hard to believe that his professor had just asked to be his guardian. Not only that, but the man had called him Harry!

He replayed their conversation in his head, as though trying to convince himself that it was not a dream; it was still too good to be true. He had never imagined that anyone would ever want him, and he had learned to accept it at a young age. This new development had shaken his view of the world, of himself, and it felt good. For the first time, he felt hope blossoming in his chest. Maybe this was his chance to finally have a home, to have a family of his own.

He closed his eyes, feeling his consciousness slowly melt away. Seconds later, he fell asleep, and it was the most peaceful sleep he had had for as long as he could remember.

* * *

The morning of the 31st came, and the two wizards ate their breakfast silently. Harry felt the uneasiness consume him once again, and he didn't think he could eat.

"Harry, you have to eat more," said Snape as he eyed the boy's almost empty plate. The Gryffindor had only served himself a slice of toast, and about half of that was still on the plate.

"I'm not very hungry," said the teenager, feeling the butterflies in his stomach come to life. He nibbled on his toast, forcing himself to eat, if only slowly.

The man summoned a vial of red potion and handed it to the younger wizard. "Drink this; it's for your stomach."

The boy obeyed, his stomach immediately feeling better. He saw the professor put two more slices of toast and a few strips of bacon on his plate. Then, a glass of milk found its way to him.

"Finish that if you can," said Snape, looking at the malnourished boy in concern. He would have to make sure to get the teenager to eat healthier meals at more frequent intervals. Perhaps some vitamins would help build his appetite. He would also have to research on nutritive potions.

Harry slowly ate, trying to finish what the man had put on his plate. He appreciated the professor's concern, really, but he just couldn't stomach too much food, especially in the morning. After finishing everything on his plate, he felt immensely full.

"Drink your milk," said Snape, glad that the Gryffindor had finished his food. A part of him wanted to curse the boy's relatives, but he let those thoughts drift to the back of his mind. Anything related to those despicable people always ruined his mood, and he didn't want to accidentally snap at the teenager because of it.

Once they finished with breakfast, the two wizards proceeded to the living room. Harry saw his trunk and his owl cage right in front of the fireplace, and he sighed, plopping himself on the couch.

He noticed that Snape was once again in his usual teaching robes, and the man approached him, gesturing for him to stand up.

"Are you ready to leave?" asked the professor, fixing the boy's collar. He fussed over the younger wizard's clothes for a few more seconds before seeming satisfied.

Harry blushed, feeling slightly awkward. Mrs. Weasley was the only adult who ever fussed over his clothes, and having the Potions Master do it felt weird, though in a good way.

"As ready as I'll ever be," he said, his tone casual. He took a deep breath before turning to the Floo, but a hand on his shoulder made him turn back.

"Harry, I want you to have something before we go," said Snape, unshrinking a large, brown package he fished out of his pocket.

"What's this, Sir?" asked the Gryffindor, taking hold of the package.

"Some clothes I want you to have," said the man. The boy began shaking his head, but the older wizard gently held his chin. "It's my Christmas gift, Harry. I know you already have clothes, but a week's worth is hardly enough."

"But Sir, I... thank you," whispered the teenager, his eyes strangely wet. No one had ever shown concern for him like this before, and it felt nice, like he actually mattered to someone.

"You're welcome, child," said Snape, giving the younger wizard's shoulder a light squeeze.

"I guess this is it."

"Nothing will change; remember that. You will always have a place with me," said the man as he looked at the Gryffindor, who still seemed nervous. "This is your home now. Perhaps in the summer, we can do something about the decoration in your room."

"You wouldn't mind even if I painted the walls red and gold?" asked the boy cheekily, grinning when he saw a hint of annoyance on the older wizard's face.

"I wouldn't mind even if you painted everything violet and silver," returned Snape. "It's yours to ruin."

Harry smiled, his chest feeling a warmth he was quickly getting used to. It hadn't been a dream; he really had a home now.

"Thank you, Professor," said the younger wizard, suddenly engulfing the professor in a brief hug. He felt the man's arms wrapped around him stiffly, and he gave the older wizard a light squeeze before stepping back.

"Stop thanking me, Harry," said Snape, suddenly feeling emotional, though his face remained impassive. He shrunk the boy's things and pocketed them, then led him through the fireplace.

"Ready to return, Mr. Potter?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes, Sir," said the Gryffindor, a bright grin on his face.

Together, they yelled, "Hogwarts!"

Bright green flames engulfed them. As the smoke cleared, the two wizards disappeared, leaving the house empty but for the memories of the one holiday that brought them the most unforeseen gift—each other.

-__Fin__-

* * *

A/N: That's it, folks! Thank you for taking the time to read this short story as well as for your wonderful reviews. There won't be a sequel; I have always meant for the story to end here. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed reading this. How about one last review from you guys? ;)


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